


Duct Tape, Saran Wrap, and Black Gloves

by EgoDominusTuus



Category: Dexter (TV), You Series - Caroline Kepnes
Genre: Dexter - Freeform, Joe - Freeform, M/M, Obsession, Serial Killers, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus
Summary: Joe sees something he wants -- but this time, it might be a bit more than he can handle.---In which the author is a strange girl.Look. Leave me and my weird rare-pair alone. I don't even know if it would end up in Dexter murdering Joe or not xD OH WELL. Let me live my best life, damn it.
Relationships: Dexter Morgan/Joe Goldberg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	Duct Tape, Saran Wrap, and Black Gloves

You almost notice that I’m looking at you right away. It’s like you can sense something on a deeper level than most people, like you’re synced with me in a way that no one else has been.

I have to admit, you aren’t my usual type, but that’s okay. I’ve never limited myself, after all. I think that love is love, and when I look into your eyes I see something looking back out at me that’s… well…

Haunting.

It’s like you need something, and I have to admit that I’m intrigued. You don’t hide it as well as you think you do -- does that mean that you want me to see it? I think it does. I think that there’s a part of you that’s broken, and you can sense the fact that I want to put you back together. 

There are only a few hitches. I’m not the free man that I used to be -- I have a kid in the wings, and some people might mark that as a turn-off… but not  _ you.  _ I can tell from looking at you that you’d love her, that you would think she was as precious as I do… and that you wouldn’t question the fact that her mother isn’t around and, no, I don’t want to talk about where she went.

When it came down to it, Love wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, after all. Sure, she gave me my daughter, and I’ll always be thankful for that… 

But in the end, she had to go. Just like Beck had to go, and just like they all end up having to go.

But not you -- you’re different. You’re… the one. I can tell from looking at you. I can tell from the lines on your face and the depth of your gaze. 

You’re a  _ man _ , and I don’t know how to navigate that territory. I don’t know if there are different methods of flirtation or ritual that I’ve never experienced before, but I’m willing to figure it out if it means that I can get closer to you.

And you’re staring back at me. I know you want me back, even if you haven’t figured out how to admit it to yourself just yet. I know that you will as long as I’m patient, as long as I give you time.

I can give you time -- I have what seems to be an endless amount of it, lately. I had to leave California, and now I’m up in some bum-town-nowhere… but that’s fine. I know why I’m here now.

I’m here because of  _ you. _

I stand up with a charming smile on my face -- I wish that I was in my natural environment, working in a bookstore, able to exude that confidence and knowledge. I’m not, though. I’m working in a big brand chain store, and you’re coming up to the counter to check out.

“Hey there,” I smile, and you give me back a pleasantly charming lilt of your lips. There’s something about your eyes though, where it doesn’t quite reach the most beautiful shade of green that I’ve ever seen. Your chin is stubbly -- you aren’t taking care of yourself. There’s a passion that is lacking in the way that you move, the way that you look at me, but I can tell that it was there. I want to help you find it again.

Still. “Find everything okay?”

“Just fine, yeah.” You smile again, hold up a roll of duct tape and wave it. 

That’s not the only thing you have, though.

A drill bit. 

Zip ties.

Saran wrap.

Black gloves.

Are you… up to something nefarious? 

You flip your wallet open after I ring your cart up, and I catch a look at your ID. “Joe Blake.”

I want to laugh, because I’ve changed my name to Dean, but that doesn’t mean that Joe isn’t familiar to me. Looking you in the eyes, you don’t look like a Joe at all. 

“Taking on a project?” I hand you your bags and your change back, and you tilt your head. For a moment, there’s something in your eyes. Some pop of passion, some danger, and desire that makes my breath catch in my throat because  _ there it is.  _ That was why I noticed you, and why I want you, and why I know that you’re the one for me. I could sense that fire beneath the surface, and I want to see more of it.

I need to see more of it. 

I make sure to remember your address when I look back down at your wallet -- you’ve left it open on the counter, and I know that you’re doing it so that I can see. You want me to know, just as much as you want me to see that passion in your eyes when you speak.

“Something like that. Getting back into an old hobby.” You smile again, and even though there is something false about it, there’s something so genuine, too. There’s something that tells me you’re telling the truth, even though that truth is something that you wouldn’t actually be sharing.

Duct tape. Zip ties. Drill bit.

Nefarious.

I should have learned my lesson with Love -- cleaning up that mess had been more of a pain that I wanted to admit. I didn’t want to get mixed up with anyone who was doing something  _ bad  _ again, but at the same time… I can’t imagine that you’re doing something wrong. There has to be a reason for it -- I want to know the reason for it.

I want to know you, Joe. Or whoever you are. 

“I hope you have fun.” I smile, close the register, commit your address to memory. I’m going to have to go to google tonight and see what I can find out. I’m glad that we recently installed high-res security cameras, because I can print myself off a still of your face before I clock out. 

“Oh, I’m sure I will. Have a good day,” your eyes flash down to my tag, “Dean.” 

Hesitation, as though you can sense that the name doesn’t fit my face -- of course you can, because we  _ get  _ each other. You shrug it off and wave as you walk out of the store, arm full of a bag of items that most definitely could be used to do something bad. 


End file.
